Lola pinched the bridge of her nose and massaged her brows. The role lissa had left behind was practically cursed. If it were a minor character, they would’ve just scrapped it. But unfortunately, this role—though not the lead—was crucial to the story.
"Director," Ida murmured, clutching a clipboard as the director, a few writers, and Lola gathered in a hotel room. Filming wasn’t officially canceled, but production was on hold while they figured out what to do. The problem wasn’t small—the role appeared in too many important scenes.
"Taz." Director Sarian turned to her. "We really can’t remove this role, can we?"
Lola pursed her lips, glancing at the scriptwriters. The adaptation had already diverged from the original novel to fit market appeal, but the essential beats had to stay. Removing this character would break the entire narrative.
The scriptwriters exchanged awkward glances, knowing they couldn’t cut the role. But at the sa ti, everyone who’d been cast for it had been obliterated.
The first actress was swept up in a scandal.
Then lissa’s downfall happened.
And now, the replacent got into an accident before her first scene.
If this wasn’t bad luck, they didn’t know what was.
"Should we use a double?" one writer suggested weakly, earning a dozen dead stares. "Sorry. Stupid idea."
A long sigh rolled around the room. They all knew that if they couldn’t find a fix soon, the only option would be to delete the role entirely.
"Let’s just remove it," one of the writers said. "We can’t find anyone who fits. The ones who do are either busy or in scandals of their own. We’re running out of choices."
"But removing it will outrage the fans," another countered. "We already promised to exceed expectations. Cutting her out will look lazy."
"Then what do we do? We can’t delay filming forever just for this one character."
"How about we hire anyone who can act halfway decent?"
"Seriously?"
"I an—if she can at least convey the emotions, it might work?"
After a mont of back and forth, everyone turned toward Director Sarian. His expression was grim, but his gaze drifted straight to Lola.
"Taz," he said slowly, "don’t you really want to play the role?"
The room went silent. Everyone followed his line of sight until all eyes landed on Lola.
Her mouth opened, then closed again. Finally, she frowned. "Director Sarian, I already told you—I’m not fit for it."
The director sighed heavily, knowing he couldn’t push her. He’d tried before. She never agreed. He was about to drop it when one of the writers muttered,
"What if... we use makeup?"
"Huh?" All heads turned toward the writer.
Ida perked up imdiately. "Right!" she exclaid, smacking her fist into her palm. "Lola, that role involves disguises anyway! If we exaggerate her look a bit—give you heavy makeup, change your hair—no one will know it’s you!"
The room lit up with excitent as everyone nodded in agreent. Even Director Sarian’s eyes glead with sudden hope.
Lola, anwhile, blinked slowly as their expectant gazes turned on her.
"No," she breathed, shaking her head. "I’m sorry, but no."
*****
"Okay, ready everyone!"
Director Sarian’s voice echoed through the microphone in the large garden area of the hotel. The crew scrambled into position—caras rolling, lighting fixed, sound checks complete.
On the bench, right in the center of the set, sat Cedrick. And next to him—
"Taz... what are you..." His voice faltered. He stared at Lola, speechless.
Lola ran her tongue along her inner cheek, her expression unreadable beneath a layer of makeup that looked... worse than usual. She couldn’t bla the makeup team—they had tried to replicate her signature look—but clearly, they didn’t understand the art of it.
"Director Sarian and the others agreed that I’ll stand in for now," she muttered with a heavy exhale. "They promised to edit my face out later. So CGI magic or whatever."
"How... exactly are they going to do that?" Cedrick asked cautiously.
"I don’t know." She shook her head, her horror barely concealed beneath the already Halloween-grade glam. "And I don’t even know why I agreed."
Her face soured as she recalled what had happened earlier. She had refused firmly and repeatedly. But then—
They’d all run to her and hugged her legs. Every single one of them. They clung to her like koalas and begged through their tears.
She tried to escape, but it’s hard to walk away when an entire production team is hanging off your arms and ankles. She wondered who taught them that?
"Gosh..." she muttered under her breath, peeking at Cedrick. "Damn it."
Cedrick pressed his lips together, lowering his head. He knew lissa’s character—eccentric, lovesick, easily manipulated by Ryker. But whatever this was? It wasn’t that.
"I hope I can do well," he murmured, trying to ignore the absurdity. "Good thing your makeup isn’t that bad today."
"..."
Lola stared at him blankly, resisting the urge to strangle him on set.
Behind the caras, the staff exchanged looks of horror.
"I know we’re the ones who suggested this," Ida whispered, staring at Lola—who, in her black outfit and ghostly makeup, looked less like a heartbroken woman and more like the Grim Reaper waiting for Cedrick’s soul. "But... this feels wrong."
Everyone else nodded silently, wearing the sa expression.
Silo and Haji, watching from the sidelines, shook their heads.
"She really did it," Haji muttered. "They’re actually gonna ruin this show."
Across from them, Izu and Baby stood watching the chaos unfold.
"Hey," Izu whispered. "Wasn’t this supposed to be a psychological drama? Or was it a cody now?"
Baby didn’t answer. He was too stunned to tell.
The set fell silent until Director Sarian’s voice bellowed through the speakers.
"ACTION!"
*****
[SUMMIT PARTNERS]
Atlas paused when he suddenly felt extra weight on his legs. Looking down, he found his children clinging to him—each wrapped around one leg, smiling brightly up at him.
"Daddy, don’t be angry anymore~" Chacha chirped. "We ca back—see?"
Second grinned. "We just helped Mommy, so we don’t have to help Grandpa Chicken build his coffin!"
"..."
Atlas’s eyes turned cold, but he didn’t say a word. He simply resud walking with two children still dangling from his legs like makeshift ankle weights.
Yep. The production team definitely learned that tactic from the twins. And it worked.
Reviews
All reviews (0)